


Train Bubbles

by TheGuard



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, Final Sermon, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Pesterlog, Post-Sgrub, reverse vision twofold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuard/pseuds/TheGuard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the game, Yellowblood Alfonc Lavpov meets what one could assume to be Dream Bubble ghosts of his Ancesors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is an Alternian Underground Pale-Ivy Line

I’m not quite used to having to be traveling this late into the morning, I make it a rule to be back home before dawn begins. The wheels of the Alternian subway make a gentle clacking sound, as they glides across the tracks, making its way through the Oliveblood district. This, coupled with the late hour and the subtle rocking of the carriage, had sent my dear sister Omegus into a quiet nap. Slumped up against me with her head on my lap and her jacket askew as a blanket.  
It has been a few months since news of The Condesce’s defeat made it planet wide, I was well prepared to become part of the Royal Guards Regiment as planned, expecting to be faced with the same standards as prior with wonky adaptions to the new ruling. But we were met with a fully refreshed and revisited system, with brand new uniforms, each custom tailored for each troll. The chokers generally administered to Psionics and other Yellowbloods were taken out of commission, the new Empress deemed them too “inhumane”. Omegus and I received black barkbeast collars alongside our uniforms, our signs engraved on a circular tag, and our names on the other side.  
I had spaced out for a moment, reading the stop route for the Yellow-Green Zone, (we had boarded at Peridot and our stop is at Gold in the Ochre Zone of Alterniea), shuttling through three ghost stations, when out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed that two other trolls had boarded in our carriage. Two ADULT trolls. I was lead to believe that it would be at least two years, more or less for the remaining adult trolls to return under orders of Feferi, and that Gl'bgolyb had emitted The Vast glub, and yet, here are two adult Yellowbloods in, what I would assume to be, Revolution era Guardsmen uniforms.  
It was only when the smaller, a female, had smiled and given me a small wave to me, did I realize that I’d been staring at them, mouth agape like a Spleenfowl caught in the headlights. I quickly looked away, the faint squeak of boot soles on the floor and the rustle of uniforms alerting me that they were looking at me, hushed whispers shared between them. I decided to scratch Omegus around the ears and between her horns to curb my nerves, she gave a little happy whine in response to my action.  
“Hey, kid!” I tried not to look. The call came from the larger male. They probably mistook me for some other troll. One of my ears flicked a little. There was a momentary pause and the two muttered to each other. I held tight to my hatch sister. “Corporals Alfonc and Omegus Lavpov, is it? Psionic Unit?” he questioned. How? How did they know our names? If this is a joke coughed up by Paradox Space, I’m seriously missing the punchline. I look up. I must have given the impression of submission when I did, because he dropped his voice to be softer and a little more jovial with a canine heavy grin. “At ease there, kid. Pleasant to see a strapping young troll such as yourself making his way for himself and others.” Uh… ‘Strapping’? Really? The female huddles up to whisper to him. “I think you’re bein’ a lil’ too forward with him.” She giggles, keeping one glowing eye on me. “Really?” She nods back, knowingly. I try to clear my throat and head to muster up a response. 

“Have we encountered each other before? Pardon me, but don’t remember seeing any Lieutenants during the induction to the Psionic squadron.” I motion towards their attire. “And in that uniform.”  
“They have one-a doze now?” She seemed more interested in my squad than my question. He leans in a bit.  
“I guess this is all part of the new Condesce’s plans, yes? What’s her name…”  
“If you mean Feferi, then yes.” I answered. That hadn’t gotten about as fast. The name Feferi Pexies was only known through found close-knit circles of trolls who had played “The Game”. Rumour had it, that a race from a whole other universe had assisted us. However, most of our team hadn’t heard of them. I smile a little at our silly name we gave ourselves: “Team Second Spin”.  
The two trolls looked incredibly flattered, being fortunate to be close to a fuchsia blood in a pleasant manner and asking how I knew, even commenting on how the highbloods they knew didn’t know the waterbitch by first name. They gave off a vibe of guardian pride, the sort a Lucius would express when a wriggler learns how to ride a two wheel device, or something along those lines.  
There was a moment of silence between the three of us. I focused on Omegus’ slow breathing as she slept. The other party settled quietly in their seats, appearing to have a more private discussion. The carriage continued to be empty, bar the four of us. The tannoy crackled and a recorded female voice made an announcement:

Now leaving Moss, Yellow-Green zone. The next station is Saffron, Ochre Zone. This is an Alternian Underground Pale-Ivy Line, calling at: Saffron, Amber, Gold, Brass, Citrine, Lemon and Pale.

The station names scroll along the board. Another recorded voice, followed it up with a reminder to mind the platform gap, along with the usual spewing of Alternian propaganda, praise Her Imperious Condescension, etc. etc.  
I turn back to hear a terrifyingly low growl, they were baring their teeth at the mention of the Batterwitch. I make a mental note: console with Krunzi about getting the announcements adjusted. I need to disperse the tension.  
“Hey, uh.” Not too sure how to approach this. “I have a friend whose started work down here, laying down new rails and electronic work. I’m sure I can put in a word about getting that altered.” I point up towards the scrolling banner and tannoy speakers. That gets them distracted and cooled off. He looks over to me.  
“As in a Mechamaimer?” he asked. I tilt my head back against the peak of the seat, hair and horns touching the window behind me.  
She wasn’t just smiling, but absolutely beaming. It was infectious, I couldn’t help smiling back. 

“Well, he is more “Mecha” than “Maimer” these days, but yes. And he’s a Colboltblood.” I slip the last part in, wondering what kind of reaction that would entail. And the reaction seems adequately positive. The female gasps, hands over her mouth and nose.  
“That is soo cool! You’re soo lucky, how’dja do dat?”  
“I uh… I played a life and death game with 11 other trolls.” I say, as my smile falters.  
I didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. It still scares me to this day. There have been times where I’ve nearly lashed out on people with tooth, claw, blade, or psionic energy out of panic or paranoia. I know, it’s not healthy.

Eventually, the train came to a stop, doors sliding open to the platform. Omegus began to stir and wake from her nap, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands as she sat up.  
“Good nap?” I ask.  
“Good nap indeed.” She responded, still mildly sleepy. “Are we here?”  
Yep, Gold Stop. She stood up, pulling the stiff yellow and black decorated jacket over her shoulders, and hopped out the door, her clip on corgi tail bouncing from her belt. I go to grab the large, sunbrella from the floor.  
“Well, it was nice talking to you, but this is my stop.” I look over to the two trolls, to see…nothing. No-one there. I pause to stare at the empty seats, when Omegus grabs my arm and drags me out to the platform before the doors shut and the train departs Gold station. I continue to stare in disbelief at the carriage as the train disappears into the darkness of the underground tunnels.  
“Alfonc, what are you staring at?” she asks. A note of concern hangs in her voice, head tilted. She then begins to drag me across the station towards the exit. “We need to go, the sun’s prolly been up for a while already.”  
There is the rhythmic marching as we take our steps in a natural sync as we climb the steps to the surface. I open up the sunbrella before we’re out in the open, the scorching Alternian sun already above the horizon. A brisk trot was employed to get to our communal hivestem without risk of getting our behinds fried. I buzz the intercom for our apartment. It’s answered with joyful barking, loveable Sno-kita. I coaxed our Lucius into getting the door open, and he did. A simple trick for the years of teaching us. I’ll miss him when the time comes. The main door clicks open and we’re in, sunbrella shut. The quiet trip in the dodgy hivestem lift. It would have been safer to use the ridiculous amount of stairs to get to the 22nd floor, but the day had worn us out, and there was no harm using a little psionic energy to ensure that the cables don’t snap or get jammed.  
I unlock the door to our block, the clunk as the key twists in the lock, setting Sno-kita off on a barking spree. Omegus took on the brunt of the hug as he jumped on to her, licking her face excitedly, happy knowing we were home. The door behind me shudders and opens, a faint sound of buzzing comes into the hall. I turn to find the Gemini troll looking pretty disgruntled, leaning against the doorframe.  
“Can you get that thtupid barkbeathd Luthuth of yourth to thut up? I’ve been trying to get thith code finithed and hith yapping ith giving me a migraine.” He looks me up and down before adding; “Nith uniform.” I huff.  
“Sollux, it’s two in the afternoon, why are you still awake if you have a headache?” Really, why does Sollux do this to himself? It’s like he’s a masochist for self-torture.  
“Actually, thinth you’re back, I wath wondering ith you could help a troll out.”  
By now, Snow-kita had quietened down and, judging from the odd snoring, asleep in his basket. And the silence in-between meant that Omegus was out like a light in her recoopercoon. I lean back on the doorframe with one foot keeping the door open. 

“What could dog-eared Psionic Guardsman do for a high level Helmsman such as yourself?” I ask, knowing full well that this annoys him much. He sneers back at me, almost baring his twin fangs at me. I must be picking up on some of my hatch sister “snark” as she calls it.  
“Can you pick me up thum flowerth for my beeths tomorrow?” he asks. I sigh, he always send us out for that rather than coming with us. Or even doing it his own dang self. I look at him, sleep pulling me toward the respite block.  
“The expensive, posh florists near the Violet Zone or that expansive lawnring in the Umber Zone between Tavros and Stella’s hives?” I press, knowing full well what the answer will be. I can even see in his face, weighing up the pros and cons of each. So, I answer for him.

“I’ll give those big horned Fudgebloods a message in the morning, we’ll make a lawnmeal out of it.” And quickly shut the door before any objections could be made. I can hear him grumbling to himself as he slams his door too. The quietness of our hivestem block, I ponder over the events from our journey home. Who were those trolls, how did they know us, and… why did they look strangely familiar so? I spent my sleeping hours thinking the event over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirrored from my DeviantArt @Duo-minds)  
> Alfonc and Omegus Lavpov are on a late day journey back to their Communal Hivestem in the Ochre Zone, when the Canis Major troll encounters oddly familiar faces. 
> 
> My first proper piece for the Homestuck fandom. Formally (I guess) introducing to two yellowblood, mild-psionic, Canis trolls: Omegus (Minor) and Alfonc (Major).


	2. (Memory + Player) + History = Ancestors

“…and then the thtupid bulgthucker dropth me down a fucking flight of thtairth and knockth my teeth out.”

We had taken a break from collecting flowers to enjoy the night with a lawnmeal from the hamper basket we had brought with us. There was a variety of grubloaves, cold boiled tubers and some sliced fruit. Stella had come out for a bit and brought us a blanket to sit on, which had pictures of hopbeasts and her symbol in bright orange, and some bottles of sparkling apple juice that she had been keeping cool in her warren hive. They were from Dracor, made from the apples from the massive orchid that surrounded her hive near the desert. Omegus and Sno-kita were rolling around in the grass, playing. Aradia had heard that Sollux was in the area and had decided to join us, making flower crowns with some of the harvest.  
I waited a moment before asking him a question, one that had been preying on my mind. But I needed to set the scene.

“Sollux…” I wasn’t too sure how to approach it. He looks over, bottle in hand.  
“What ith it, AF?”  
“Have you heard any voices of the doomed recently? Like maybe mine, or Omegus’ perhaps. Or, any trolls from our respective circles?”  
“The voitheth? Yeah, they’re back, but a lot quieter. I...don’t recognith any right now. Why?”  
“Would actually seeing the dead be a Doom player ability? Do any of us even have any remnants of our aspect powers?”  
“I doubt it. Not all of uth reached godtier.” He leans back against Aradia, who has already strung together buttercups and placed the circlet she wove on his head, gently between his twin horns. Maybe it’s just me and the trauma then. Sollux’s brow knitted for a moment. “Hey AA, what time ith it?”  
The Aries troll tilted her head to the side a little as she looked down at Sollux, her wild wavy hair draping over her shoulders as she seemed to contemplate the question.

“Quarter past one.” She answers without hesitation, or any time-telling devices.  
I check my palmhusk, and she is correct, I shrug it off. “Maybe there are still dregs of godhood leftover.”  
“Maybe, or maybe, ith cuz, alongside AT, KK and DC, we’re a bunch oth freakth.” I spend a moment re-pondering my question. I take a thoughtful sip of the cold juice and watch my hatch sister return to picking flowers, having hooked up a couple of shallow baskets to Sno-kita’s back and filling them as she goes. Sollux looks over at me, his hetero-chromic eyes glowing in the night.

“Why are you athking me thith, AF?”  
“I…I met two adult yellowblooded trolls, one with my sign and the other with Omegus’, on the Pale-Ivy line yesterday. Same horns, same red-blue-yellow scheme, similar uniforms to us, down to my knee high boots and her thigh high ones. It was just weird and I’ve never had an experience like that.” 

“I think, your train managed to travel through a dreambubble.” Aradia began. “Sollux and I spent a lot of our extended session meeting many dead versions of our friends, and the kinds of mishaps they’d gotten themselves into.”  
Sollux gave a snigger behind his twin fangs, perhaps at a memory. Tirasa had spoken before about doomed timelines and dreambubbles after the moons of Prospit and Derse were destroyed. But all 12 of Team Second Spin had made it out in one piece, five of us had managed to rise to godhood, including Arctos who had apparently ascended twice.  
“But…what are the chances of a game construct manifesting in the real world? It makes no sense.”  
“About ath much thenthe as thome of uth thtill being godth.” Sollux raised his eyebrows at Aradia. 

I thought about the concept of dreambubbles for my situation. Dreambubbles, “glubbed” by the horrorterrors of the furthest ring, contained memories of players who have died at least once, in one form or another. But, it wasn’t a memory of either mine, or Omegus’ or anyone I knew had. But, those trolls looked like us, signs and all.  
“Maybe it’s more of a historical event. Like how we encountered our “pre-scratch ancestors”. They were a weird bunch.” The Aries troll said. Historical. That’s a though. And it clicked. Dreambubble (Memory + Player) + History = Ancestors.  
“Alfy, you ’kay?” Omegus called from her harvest. I didn’t register it as my whole body automatically jolted to its feet.

“I need to find Ravuse.” I said flatly, and took off across the field towards the nearest station. My whole system went on automatic, all other though processes were closed off to my one objective: find Ravuse Ne’rmor and enquire about my ancestor. On approach of the Umber/Ocher border, I kicked my psionics into gear. My abilities pale incredibly in comparison to a troll like Sollux, a tier 9 Psionic, helmsman worthy. I am only tier 4, capable of basics of flight, telekinesis and electrical discharge. Nothing fancy. And because of The Game, Omegus had boosted up to a tier 5.3 from being our Seer of Space. If she pulls her hood over her eyes, she can perform a huge area sweep. 

Ravuse Ne’rmor wasn’t too far a travel to meet up with. The concept of actual schooling over schoolfeeding via husktops had been put into discussion. Our feathery Oliveblood had ended up converting her hive into a huge archive of some of the most important figureheads of Alternian history of all ends of the hemospectrum. Some elements of basic schoolfeedings were revised and updated, and anything from lusus care and romance novellas, to the basics of Apiculture and advanced mathematics can be found here, with more being printed and added every perigree. I have great affection towards books, and right now, it is history I’m concerned in.  
The exterior is quite ornate in comparison of the other hives in the Olive Zone, Ravuse had managed to telepathically control a collection of carpenter droids in renovating the front. The doors had been replaced with thicker, grander ones, with darkened brass fixtures. She even had a store bell installed on them, which trilled gently as I entered. Immediately I was accosted by a flurry of feathers scattering on me, and the frantic flapping of wings and cawing as her crow griffin-lusus hurriedly flew away to another perch within the hive. Somewhere amongst the thousands of rows of bookshelves, a coarse female voice giggled.

“Is that a Lavpov I hear yelping? I really need to get Po to stop nesting near the entrance, the bell will just keep spooking her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirrored from my DeviantArt @Duo-minds)  
> Alfonc discusses dreambubbles with Aradia and Sollux, whist Omegus frolics with Snow-kita.


	3. So, how can the Crow-Witch help?”

I took a moment to take in the interior. Tirasa had the honours of being Ravuse’s server player, so I wasn’t sure what to expect the inside of her hive to look like. The renovations were still a work in progress, but what there was so far was dark, rich and ornate, much like the entrance. Ravuse arrived with an armful of books, she stacked them on to the large wooden desk and slid behind it, a black and olive shawl draped over her shoulders and a Void brooch affixed to the side.

“So, how can the Crow-Witch help?” She asks, thatching her fingers together and placing them in front of herself. The fact she referred to herself by her class in that manner, I found rather quaint. In the depths of this “Library”, Po cawed, echoing through the halls.  
“Last morning, Omegus and I had apparently travelled through a dreambubble between the Lime and Gold stations on the underground.” I began. “We had passed the three ghost stations on the way when at some point, who I assumed to be our ancestors had boarded.” I brought up the conversation I had had with them, noting their uniforms and appearance. She nodded and looked under the desk, pulling out a rather hefty looking set of keys from a draw. Ravuse motions to me to come with.  
“What do you think of it so far?” She asks, gesturing around as we make our way to a more disclosed area. “The transition and décor, I mean.”  
“It’s interesting to say the least. Where did you get the idea for the set up? All of this must’ve cost you a bomb in Boondollars!”  
“Not really.” She smiles. “Just a little chat with Feferi, a few little meetings with some writers and printing companies, some research into Earth Libraries,” She taps one side of her temples. “And a little Ne’rmor magic.” I smile weakly.  
Ravuse held up the ring of keys, flicking through them until she’d found one with an olive cap, and slid it into a hidden keyhole, the swingclamps groaning heavily under the weight of metal door. The inside was dark, build like a vault. There’s a soft click and lights flicker along the walls. They were low lights so as not to destroy the records and journals that filled the shelves. There was a desk, scattered with a number of pens, papers, a large magnifying glass on an armature, and a book resting on a lectern. 

“It took a lot of convincing, but I managed to persuade Vriska to give me Mindfang’s journal. I’m in the process of refurbishing the original and typing up a replica to give back.”  
Mindfang’s journal? An amazing artefact that she had deemed an essential part of troll history, everyone was in it in essence. I began to peruse through the spines, Ravuse doing the same, a piece of paper with my sign on it and olive cotton gloves on. She passes through a number of signs and colours, before stopping on a book of another Colboltblood. She began to gently flick though the pages, pausing to check the journal on the lectern, before she felt satisfied with the results, with a caw and a click of her heels.

“I found it.” Ravuse announced, hands on her hips. I go to look over her shoulder at the lengths of text.  
“…accosted two low level psionic guardsmen, one of which had gone rogue… negotiated with owner of establishment they were tethered to/guarding… procure mind honey to amplify their psionic levels for hopbeast hunting.”  
She skimmed a touchstub along the words. The journal of this troll had talked about hunting a particular lowblood to prevent their discovery from causing mass hysteria, by forcing the two psionic trolls to consume mind honey, and using them as hunting dogs, whist mind controlling a sun-howler as a mount.  
“So, what we have here, if memory and interpretation serve correctly, is the final entry of The Huntress, who used your ancestors as hunting dogs to track and kill The Stargazer,”  
“Stella’s ancestor?”  
“Yes. She was trying to reach The Hemosmith to warn everyone about the Green Moon. But this never happened since The Hemosmith was being held at The Signless’ execution, and then left to kill The Performer, who had been spying on her.”  
“Why? Why’d her spy on her though?” I asked, glancing at the page. Ravuse turns from the books towards another section of the room. It held a number of more physical artefacts, like masks and weapons that their descendants were not interest in inheriting, favouring other strife specibi. There was a click as a padlock unlocked then dropped to the floor.  
“Do you remember what Dracor used to say about herself, when we first played the game?” She called from the room.  
“She said a lot of things, mostly invectives. What in particular?”  
Another lock pops and the creak of aged hinges. She called me in, inside the chest was a large swab of white cloth, masking something heavy which filled the air with the smell of iron, rust and blood.  
“She used to say that she could melt the most golden of hearts. Now what do you suppose that meant?” She looks up at me.  
“Well, she is a Thief of Blood, so does it mean that she is a really manipulative person and can will anyone onto her side?” This was true in a way. The blood aspect focused on unity and bringing together players for a better cause. Naturally those lower on the spectrum would willingly follow Dracor to the ends of Alternea, and those higher did so out of respect of her position as a Jadeblood, despite her own unique mutation that would have prevented her from working in the brooding caverns. Not that she wanted to anyway.  
This answer gave me a look, and a strange sneer that only a Ne’remor could pull.  
“No, but close. It IS to do with blood, but NOT the blood aspect. Here take a look.”  
She beckoned me down to the chest and pulled back the protective cloth. And what I saw frightened me. 

It was a set of shackles. Not just any old set, but THE set. The very pair that The Sufferer was trollhandled and executed in. Stained and marred with the same condemned Iron Red blood.

My ears filled with the screams, the cries of pain and heartbreak of lowbloods, which contrasted with the laughter and highblood merriment. But I could see it, just a little out of focus, but I could see it. They were all there. The Signless, chained up, wrists encased in the red-hot irons, that only to keep getting hotter. The Disciple. The Dolorosa. Psionic, Hemosmith too, and the swaths of devoted followers. An indigo tipped arrow flew past, the wind just cutting into my cheek, Darkleer was there too. There were howls of gaiety as the arrow buried itself in the flesh, and a hollow roar flared up with the fiery glow of the irons, that synched up in such a morbidly beautiful way. What followed next unsettled me just as much. 

The Final Sermon. 

With the last of his breath, he spoke of how the Dolorosa raised him, his love for The Disciple, his freeing and close bond with The Psionic, how The Hemosmith provided them all with warmth and security, the same as the Berserker did when he came to him, to ask for forgiveness for the destructive nature of his Sun-howler form.  
It all ended with his utter rage at the world he’d dreamt to heal, which turned into a stream of blaspheme, his voice becoming someone else’s. There was a pained and thunderous roar, before a troll in rich, olive-green robes and incredibly long hair grabbed me by the arms and attempted to seriously shoosh-pap me. It was only then I’d realized the roaring was me screaming and I made my attempts to quieten down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirrored from my DeviantArt @Duo-minds)  
> Ravuse takes Alfonc though her WiP library to the archive, and sets off his history senses. This section took forever to write, but I'm impressed with the results.


	4. 1 New MSG on Trollian

looseNebular [LN] began trolling steamEmbers [SE] at 20:34

[LN] ewooooooo  
[SE] h£yo Om£gu$  
[SE] how ar£ you k££ping?  
[LN] rly gud  
[LN] u?  
[SE] not bad h£r£  
[SE] got th£ forg£ burning nic£ly  
[LN] oooooh, wat u makin?  
[SE] making $om£ p£ndant$ for £v£ryone  
[LN] preddy  
[SE] mhm, I’v£ actually pulled £nough gold out for 24 if I’m £conomical with it.  
[LN] makes me bit qweezy nowing were it cms frm  
[LN] bt it’s wat makes it xtra spesial  
[LN] ooh, bfr I frgt y I came here  
[LN] I needed 2 ask u sumthin  
[SE] ??  
[LN] about ancestors  
[LN] pyaww?  
[SE] y£ah, y£ah  
[SE] I’m $till h£r£  
[SE] ju$t, th£ $tuff almo$t boil£d ov£r  
[SE] god it’$ £v£rywh£r£  
[SE] ok, anc£$tor$, what do you want to know?  
[LN] umm, how’d u find urs?  
[LN] & how wud u kno?  
[SE] um  
[SE] I don’t know r£ally, it’$ b££n diff£r£nt for £v£ry troll who’$ found th£ir$ $o far.  
[LN] how’d u find urs thn?  
[SE] my hiv£ wa$ originally my an$£$tor’$  
[SE] I found a ch£$t in on£ of th£ block$ that I und£r$tand wa$ h£r primary $m£lting and $mithing ar£a  
[SE] turn$ out, $h£ wa$ th£ hub for w£apon$mithing, and making highblood j£w£lry  
[LN] ooooh, ur ancestor sunds awsum  
[SE] $h£ wa$ al$o a gold$tr£am£r and a pyromanc£r too  
[SE] which £xplain$ why my body’$ a bit $cr£wy  
[LN] :’(  
[SE] it’$ ok, om£gu$  
[SE] I’m GOLDEN with it >30  
[LN] hee  
[SE] anyway, wa$n’t th£r£ a r£a$on you want£d to talk to m£ about the h£mo$mith?  
[LN] oki  
[LN] alf called me earlier  
[LN] sayn tht he’d spkn 2 our ancestors on the train hme lst nite  
[LN] ravuse sed they wer “the gatekeeps"  
[SE] wow  
[SE] you’v£ got a pr£tty big s£gm£nt of our group’$ $tory  
[SE] I’d $ay hi$tory almo$t r£p£at£d it$£lf in our gam£  
[SE] if it wa$n’t for th£ fact $p£r£d wa$n’t th£r£  
[SE] and $h£ had no contact with Vri$ka to g£t “$tung”  
[LN] I still quake in ma legwrmrs  
[LN] not gud xp  
[LN] 2/10 wud not recc :p  
[SE] I und£r$tand :)

looseNebular [LN] ceased trolling steamEmbers [SE] at 20:50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirrored from my DeviantArt @Duo-minds)  
> Omegus trolls Dracor and chat about ancestors. Have fun with typing quirks guys!
> 
>   
> 


	5. You happened to come in with your stories of Ancestors

“So, you say that you saw your ancestors on the underground, after going through a dreambubble and passing the ghost stations?” Krunzi’s voice echoed through the darkness, the hard thud of his boots and the occasional scraping clunk of his cog gauntlets reverberated along the tunnel’s walls. The troll was squat for his age and cast, but pretty well build underneath. His engineering, lugging those hefty gauntlets as hands, and playing Sgrub had done him good by fitness standards. We’d met at Olive Station after my brief chat with Ravuse, and the pair of us had been walking alongside the Yellow-Green section of train track conversing. At his insistence of safety, we were wearing what the humans referred to as “Hi-vis vests”, saying that they’d be needed more when we got to Lime Station. 

After The Game, Krunzi decided to be a full time Mechamaimer, repairing and maintaining the AUR as a first step. And with his skills in mechanical engines, non-bio electronics and circuitry, he managed to tidy up all five stations in the Blue zone to a mirror shine, the trains themselves gliding without a hitch. And all within a perigee. The troll works fast.

“Ravuse never did tell me what she meant by “melting gold hearts” though.” I concluded. Darn that elusive crow-troll.  
“She didn’t explain the Goldstreamer mutation to you?” He replied, one eyebrow up so much, it would probably crawl off his face. There was horn sounding in the depths on the tunnel before the Pale-Ivy train shot past, a huge gust of wind battering us, carriage lights flashing. I immediately jumped back, worried about getting hit whilst Krunzi had barely flinched. He must be so used to this, the Colboltblood turned to wave cheerfully to the driver, who nodded back.  
“No I… don’t believe she did.” I replied, after the commotion passed us. We resumed our walk down the tunnel.

“So, you know how some trolls have their own mutation through their bloodline that they don’t share with others of their cast? Like my matesprit’s Sun Howlisum, Serket’s mind control, Vantas’ more questionable hue, stuff like that.” Krunzi started, listing off the trolls names on the digits of his gloves. “The Pyraahs’ have a unique mutation referred to as Goldstream,” he explained. “Where the afflicted troll’s calcium rod foam produces flecks of pure gold in small amounts into their bloodstream, and it needs to be manually removed by a licenced mediculler or docterrorist.”  
The revelation hit me like a sack of tubers. 

“And she uses that to…oh god, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Dude, not here. I don’t have any sand or anything in my deck to clean that shit up.”

“But Dracor’s using blood gold to make us pendants. Blood. Gold. Krunzi.”

“Who else do I get it from for making circuitry? I practically have a trade agreement with her.”

We eventually arrived at Lime Station, one of the three ghost stops, the place was terribly dark and dusty. What little light there was down here revealed rubble and sweeps old wrappers littering the floor, as if there was some mad dash to leave the station. Nibble vermin lurked in the darker parts, if that were even possible, and scurried away as I gently hovered up onto the edge of the platform and Krunzi repelled afterwards, landing with a satisfying thud. 

“Do you think we got the right station?” I ask, taking a deep sniff of the stale and musky air. There was a note of ozone and burning, it was faint but definitely there. I turn back to the sight of Krunzi striking his gauntlets together repeatedly, a slow-paced chink, chink, chink, as if he was trying to find the right combination or angle.

“Eh, pretty much.” The Ceruleanblood replied, still focused on whatever it was he was trying to achieve. “We did hear a commotion down here, you happened to come in with your stories of Ancestors as I was planning to go here anyway—whoa!” He shot his arms out to stare at his hands. There was a faint glow coming from them as we both stared from where we stood, and the smell of ozone seemed to increase. The circlet-horned troll tilted his head a little, before gently closing his eyes, a wash of concentration on his face, his breathing slowed. 

A low glow seemed to start at the pads of his mechanical fingers, gathering at the large beat panels over his knuckles, where the glowing brightened and illuminated the station somewhat. In what light that was provided, I could see that the tiled walls were murky with filth, signs and maps were coated in a thick layer of dust, cobwebs strung over the lone ticket machine and the stair case to the surface had been boarded up.  
The glow had fully lit up the softer areas of Krunzi’s gauntlets, his bucktoothed grin stretching more and more, as his old game powers stared to wind up his arms, hugging every curve of his muscles. With a quick whip back of his fists, he sent a shockwave of light that filled the whole station and carried on miles down the desolate tunnels, lighting every dead and burnt out light with a soft fluorescent glow. 

“Fuck yeah! Heir of Light’s back!” he yelled triumphant, one hand poised on his hip with the other pointed at the ceiling. This guy is such a card. With a doable light level in the area, I began to follow the smell of burning and ozone, getting stronger from the stairwell. The wooden boards had large dark gouge marks, like they had been struck with a wide blade or claws. There was a faint sound of settling tinder from behind the makeshift wall, a sort of popping, like a dying fire as the last few flames spat out cinders. The two of us began to pry apart the barricade, my psionics on the joints and nails, and Krunzi practically punching a way through, wood splintering under the force, as the clockwork ticked away with each successive hit.

Eventually, we bore enough of a gap to be able to walk through and were greeted with a gentle breeze of the night air from the surface. Where there would have been a station entrance, was a large hole in the wood, the same scorch marks as the wall and the surrounding juts were burnt to cinders. A long, black case sat smouldering in a crater, covered in broken beams, and dust settling everywhere from our entrance.

“Hey, allow me.” Krunzi sidled past and proceeded to pull the case from the wreckage. I would have interrupted before he added with “It might still be hot.” The case was similar to that of a musical instrument: black casing, bevelled corners, three latches down the side and a handle in the middle. The two signs corresponding to me and Omegus painted in yellow on either end of the lid. The latches pop with a soft click and I open the case. Two, classic, well-worn, yet free of rust, polearms swaddled in aging yellow cloth, one a Naginata, the other a Glaive, the blade mounted on a slightly longer staff. 

“They’re both the ones? I mean, legit.” Krunzi looked between me and the weapons, wanting confirmation.  
“They have to be.” I answered, already grabbing the glaive by its staff. “I remember the blade shapes distinctly, and our signs are on the lid.” I start to swing the polearm around my wrist, the blade whipping and cutting through the air. It was quite a beautiful piece of lowblood craftsmanship, possibly by a troll who worked under the Hemosmith, and was designed and built with psionics in mind what with the inbuilt conductibility. 

The scorch marks on the wood near us seemed to have begun to light up and spread along the walls behind us. Blackness started to cloud my vision, starting from around the edges, and my hearing dulled down so much, I couldn’t hear Krunzi’s concern over the rush of blood around my ears. I turned around slowly, both hands gripping on the staff that propped me up, and was welcomed to another grim view of Old Alternia, a hazy glow on the horizon as the monstrous sun was setting. There was a faint sound of running, feet beating against a track, the dirt worn but still soft.

There was a cold sensation over my back and neck, like someone had grabbed me by the shoulder. I hadn’t realized how tense I was, whole body rigid, I tried to scratch back the invading limb and got my claws caught in something fleshy. Appearing next to me looked much like Krunzi. And it was him, my nails deep in his arm, enough to draw cobalt blood, and his hi-vis jacket and jumpsuit where replaced with his ancestor’s cerulean on black uniform and tool belt. If any historical records were to go by, Krunzi looked like a splitting image of General Croshed Heterodyne, albeit much shorter.

A female troll came hurrying along the track. Her long billowing hair tied back into a pair of buns either side of her horns, which towered incredibly. Her speed caused her robes to flail behind her, in rich bronze embroidered silk and cotton, fabrics usualy associated with highblood ladies. Fatigue seemed to be setting in for the troll as she began to slow and pant. The air began to fill with the overwhelming smell of ozone, Krunzi shook me by the shoulder and pointed over down the hill, looking distressed, which was quite unlike him. He could see what I was seeing. And we saw the Huntsman, bow loaded, club on his hilt, and mounted atop a mind controlled Berserker. But I had good reason to be disturbed.

He had The Gatekeeps held by their throats with chains, frothing and drooling from their mouths and over-clocked psionics visibly crackling around their horns. They were barely able to stand properly, and the smell of burning flesh clued me that their think pans were probably slowly frying. The female troll he’d been stalking was pressed up against a dead end, a number of the embroidered patterns showed the sign of Lepus, accompany those with the large, hopbeast ear-like horns and I remembered that this was Stella’s ancestor: The Stargazer.

Another whip of wind and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The cerulean fletching of the arrow glided through the stagnant air, the arrow head narrow but savagely barbed. We couldn’t intervene, yet our ganderbulbs were forcibly fixed on the events. 

Time sped up again. With a sharp cry, the arrow pinned the Bronzeblood to the cliff face by her shoulder, copper soaking her outer garments and her legs buckled underneath her. It was painful to know that The Stargazer couldn’t fight back, to “commune” with beasts like The Summoner and Tavros could. She began to thrash violently, making a long, drown out whine, sobbing as she slid down the shaft of the arrow. The Huntsman had let go of the chains holding back my ancestors, they stumbled back before righting themselves. Arcs of blue and red curled around their horns and crackled between their teeth.  
Everything became a haze of red, blue and purple, then a blinding white, the air filled with screams of The Stargazer. It rung in my ears before reality faded back in from the psionic glare, the scream coming from me again, on my knees and sobbing. Krunzi had sat down with me, having dislodged my nails from his arm, and rubbing circles in my back. 

“Hey, s’okay.” He soothed, rocking us back and forth. “Its history now, you won’t have to see it again.” There was a note to the sigh that followed it, maybe it was seeing the state his matesprit’s Ancestor was in that tugged at his bloodpusher. We waited a while, the gentle glow of the lights gradually died down and the Pale-Ivy line shot past us on it’s way back to the terminal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mirrored from my DeviantArt @Duo-minds)  
> Oh my GOD, I am sooo glad I finally got this done. The ending was so fiddly to write.  
> This takes place during "I'll Find You Soon Enough"


End file.
